Chapter 6

He messaged again:

“You’ve worked here for five years. I’ve treated you well. You went from an ordinary operations employee to a team lead because the company gave you an opportunity.”

I looked at the words and smiled.

An opportunity.

Whenever the boss said that, it sounded like a favor he’d bestowed on me.

But all the late nights I’d worked until midnight, the proposals I’d revised until my stomach hurt, the emergencies when clients went berserk at midnight and I had to drag myself up to fix them—those were all brushed aside as if they were nothing.

In the end, all that remained was one sentence:

The company gave you an opportunity.

I didn’t reply.

The boss continued:

“If you withdraw your resignation and help stabilize the team, I’ll promote you to Operations Director. Your bonus will be prioritized for settlement, and I’ll compensate you with three months’ salary.”

So it wasn’t that he couldn’t pay me.

He was deciding whether I was worth paying.

I started recording my screen.

He sent another message:

“Everyone else has claimed a red envelope. You’re the only one who hasn’t. Claim yours now, and I’ll send you 88,888 separately.”

Eighty-eight thousand, eight hundred and eighty-eight.

More than half the bonus he’d offered me the night before.

10

I left the chat and saved screenshots of the boss’s private messages.

Then I opened the small group chat and dropped them in.

“He’s trying again. He’s offering me 88,888 and telling me to claim it retroactively.”

The group was silent for a few seconds.

Lu Chuan replied with just two words: “Saved already.”

I looked at the screen, and the last of my hesitation disappeared.

The boss’s logic had never changed.

He was calculating. Who was worth more, who was more dangerous, who was worth buying off.

But he’d overlooked one thing.

Last night, when I submitted my resignation, I was alone.

This morning, when I walked into the meeting room, a whole line of people was standing behind me.

I replied to the boss: “If you have anything to say, go through the labor inspector or send it in writing by email.”

He didn’t message me again.

Ten minutes later, Ms. Zhou posted in our department chat:

“The company has decided to suspend the next steps of the co-creation plan for the time being. More details will follow. Please remain calm and don’t spread misinformation.”

Suspended.

Not canceled. Not an apology. Suspended.

He wanted to drag this out. Wait for the labor inspector’s attention to fade. Wait for the employees to run out of patience. Wait for someone who needed the money badly enough to come to him and settle privately.

But he’d forgotten one thing.

The labor inspector had already opened a case.

I opened my computer, bundled together the screen recording of the boss’s private messages, the screenshots of his offer of 88,888, and Ms. Zhou’s notice that the “co-creation plan” was suspended. Then I emailed them to the labor inspector.

I wrote just one line in the body:

“The company is still using secret side deals to stop employees from asserting their rights. Please expedite the investigation.”

When I hit Send, I leaned back in my chair.

It was already dark outside. Only Lu Chuan and I were left in the office. He was still exporting data, his fingers flying over the keyboard.

The next morning, labor inspectors came to the company again.

This time, they took more: server backups, personnel records, financial statements, emails between the boss and Ms. Zhou, and the complete event configuration history. The boss was called into a meeting room alone and questioned for two hours.

When he came out, his face was ashen.

Ms. Zhou didn’t show up.

HR said she’d called in sick.

That afternoon, the labor inspector gave a preliminary assessment: during the red-envelope event, the company had failed to use a prominent method to warn employees about the core terms. It was suspected of using deceptive tactics to get employees to sign agreements against their actual wishes. The related agreements could be challenged and rescinded under the law.

The company’s unpaid wages, performance pay, reimbursements, and other outstanding amounts had also been entered into the investigation record.

The news reached the group chat. No one cheered.

Everyone simply sent a quiet “Received.”

When we left work, Xia He was waiting for me downstairs.

Her eyes were still swollen, but there was a little color in her face again.

We walked side by side out of the building. One streetlight after another flickered on, stretching our shadows across the pavement.

I took out my phone and called my mother.

“Mom, I’ll go with you to your follow-up appointment next month.”

“Okay. How have you been lately?”

I looked up at the sky.

“I’m all right.”

“I just quit a job—and happened to save more than twenty people along the way.”

There was a two-second silence on the other end. Then Mom laughed.

“Good. Come home for dinner.”

“Okay.”

I hung up and slipped my phone into my coat pocket.

The wind was a little chilly, but not bitterly cold.

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